Jane Goes In
by WafflesnRizzles
Summary: When Jane jumps in to save Westcourt, she triggers a tidal wave of events that begin to unravel the careful balance she and the beautiful Medical Examiner have maintained for so long. Rizzles.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi, guys! I've got a new story for you all. This one has been in the works for quite some time. Hopefully this bridges the ever-closing gap between the new R&I season for you, because I don't know about you guys, but I'm totally ready for a new season already. One where these two fools actually get together.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy! I would love to hear your comments about the direction you think I'm heading with this. As always, it's definitely Rizzles endgame. **

"JANE!" the words ripped out of her throat with raw agony as she stood clutching the cold metal of the bridge railing. She squinted down into the dark water to try to perceive any sort of movement, any bob of the dark curly mane she so desperately wanted to see.

_Why_ did she have to jump? Why did she have to go in? She jumped in feet first, which hopefully dispelled the impact and protected her vital organs from rupturing. If that were the case, of course, she would probably sustain some broken bones or fractures, but that was much preferable to…

The dark thought slithered slowly around her metaphorical heart, leaving a dark, sticky trail of fear.

The inky blackness obscured everything—if only she could _hear_ something…

She peered farther over the railing. A strong wave of vertigo swirled around her body, threatening to pull her in after the impulsive detective.

Her body impossibly lurched forward as the immutable railing gave way. Her limbs were in that weightless limbo between sky and ground; her stomach and intestines felt as if they were floating up into her chest cavity as blood quickly left them. She was falling.

Her stomach swirled and churned like the opaque waters below as she struggled against the strange gravitational pull.

Her grip, however, stayed strong and the rails dutifully remained intact. She was not falling. In fact, she was not moving at all. There was the concrete of the bridge sidewalk below her and the long cables of the bridge structure above her.

But the water was so still. She could only hear the soft plodding of the water in whatever direction it was going.

She paused in her anxiety to think.

THE CHARLES RIVER ran west to east, and she was currently facing east. Jane would obviously be pulled downstream and thus would likely surface underneath the bridge or on the other side. The noise of traffic would likely block any sound made under the bridge or on the other side of it. She started running.

"Jane's gone in. Call 9-11 and get the Fire Department over here immediately," Maura said authoritatively over her cellphone to Korsak. Her shaking hands belied her calm, impersonal voice.

_Jane is okay. Jane is okay. Jane is okay. _

She clicked the phone off when she heard Korsak's hurried, "Of course," and deftly dodged an oncoming semi truck.

Maura Isles only stopped when her body made harsh contact with the railing on the other side. She peered over the edge again, this time to a soft splashing sound.

"JANE!" Maura called again, running down the bridge toward the sound of the splashing water. She could see a figure slowly making its way toward the north bank. As she made it down to the end of the bridge, she quickly clambered down the rocky slope down to the riverbank. Her shoes slipped and slid on the loose gravel, which fell down the steep decline ahead of her like so many little guides.

"Jane!" Maura shouted a third time, this time slightly softer and more relieved. The figure was swimming—with some difficulty—toward her on the shore.

"Call an ambulance!" the figure shouted to her from some distance away, "She's not moving!"

In the soft orange light of the bridge streetlamps, Dr. Maura Isles clinically surveyed the scene. This was her domain. This is what she knew: a crime scene.

She watched as police officers cordoned off one lane on each side of the bridge. Two officers were assigned traffic duty, one was assigned the task of taping the scene. Paul Westcourt had given his version of the events to the police, but the potential for foul play was real. They took him in handcuffs to the station, where they would hold him under suspicion of pushing Jane in. The police never left any stone unturned when it came to one of their own.

Maura gave her own statement as well. She couldn't offer much, of course, because she had been standing some distance away and had both been unable to hear Jane's conversation with Paul and also unable to see what happened when both went into the water. The only defense Paul had was that he was the one to pull Jane to safety—but that could have just been a ploy to make himself look good to a jury or the authorities.

Nobody would really know until Jane woke up.

_If_ she woke up.

Thus Dr. Isles stood, hands clasped behind her back, and watched her kingdom unfold before her. There was no body for her to autopsy—yet. She could be on her way to the hospital right now, but there was no point. She would only be stymied by the hospital staff, who might pity her enough—or respect her badge enough—to give her such unhelpful information as, "She's doing okay."

And she was of course unable to ride in the ambulance with Jane. She did not belong to Jane in the eyes of the State of Massachusetts: she was neither her relative nor her wife. The thought made her heart feel as dark and churning as the waters below her under the bridge.

She would never be Jane's relative. Blood would never bind them, nor would—perish the thought—marriage. The Rizzoli brothers had certainly tried their best, but the thought of having just a crumb while the rest of the cake remained untouched was simply too much.

_"__Two broken legs and severe internal bleeding,"_ the EMT had said upon first examination of Jane. Her dark curly hair was wet and plastered to the harsh angles of her face. Maura gently peeled the strands away from Jane's eyes, nose and mouth. Her hand must have lingered too long on Jane's face, because she raised her eyes to see a knowing look in the EMT's eyes. Another EMT was assessing Jane's vitals and possible injuries. In one part of her consciousness, Dr. Isles was easily keeping up and agreeing with all clinical assessments he made about Jane.

The other part of her consciousness remained fixated wholly on Jane the individual. Her Jane, the one who made the ice melt away from the frigid heart of Dr. Death. The one who somehow managed to listen to—and even reiterate—all of the boring studies, statistics and facts that helped shape the M.E.'s very clinical worldview.

"She your girl?" he asked.

"No," she answered softly, "She's not mine." The words were so quiet they barely vibrated the tympanic membrane of the EMT, but they nonetheless reverberated through the Doctor's entire being.

Every time she was forced to say it aloud it hurt so badly it left her breathless. It happened at bars, in the grocery store, at yoga class, and not at few times at a crime scene.

Maura Isles was not a possessive woman; growing up with money and poor social skills had solidified that for her. Consequently, any material item she had could always be replaced; any relationship she had could always—and usually did—fall apart. She was dismissive of the former and utterly grateful for the latter. Never was there any room for possessiveness.

That is, before Jane. Jane was something she couldn't possess—like some beautiful wild horse that refused to be tamed, but that had nonetheless laid claim to your imagination. Yes, Jane wholly possessed her, but Maura could never even get close enough for her lasso to reach.

She sighed harshly. This never got any easier. And the metaphors just kept getting worse.

_Please be okay_, was her silent plea as they wheeled her up into the ambulance and shut the door in her face.

The condensation on the outside of the water glass on the desk of Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts slowly accrued. When the droplets became too heavy, they would slowly descend down the glass, picking up speed as they absorbed other droplets and their velocity increased.

Maura's intense concentration was broken by the sound of her cellular ringing. She quickly rifled through her purse to find it.

"Dr. Isles," said the M.E. into her phone without looking.

"Maura?" Angela Rizzoli's coarse voice asked over the phone.

"Hi, Angela," Maura said, the cool voice of the M.E. dropping into a tone laced with concern, "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Just another day in the Rizzoli household, as you well know. They should engrave my name into this seat for how often I sit here!"

Maura broke her tirade with a soft, "I know."

"Anyway, the doctor just came to talk to me and said the usual doctor mumbo-jumbo and I don't understand a word of it. I told him to talk to you when you come down here. Are you on your way? I thought you would already be here by now. You know, cause it's _Jane_."

Ah, the Angela guilt trip.

"You know I'd love to be there right now, Angela, but I'm currently working..." Maura let Angela fill in the blanks, hoping the matriarch wouldn't push for more. The thought of truly lying was already making her tongue feel heavy inside her mouth.

"O-kay," Angela said skeptically, "I'll call you with any news."

Maura could swear she heard Angela mutter, _"Not that I would understand it if I got it,"_ into the phone as she hung up.

She let loose another world-weary sigh and reopened her last browsing session. The latest Emanuel Ungaro collection popped up on her screen. She clicked on the blue cowl-neck dress and let loose a softer sigh. Momentarily, a profound feeling of awe obscured the darker, more tumultuous feelings inside her. This dress was simply a work of art.

As she was entering in her address and card information, Maura heard the distinct noise of shoes on the hard morgue floor. Looking up, she saw Cavanaugh carefully picking his way to her office door.

She stood up automatically to meet him.

"Lieutenant," she said in greeting to him.

"Dr. Isles," he responded back. He shifted slightly where he was standing and looked awkwardly around the room. He never came down here. In fact, the last time he had, she and Jane were almost at each other's throats in what was rather chauvinistically termed a "catfight."

"Would you like a seat?" the M.E. motioned to the two uncomfortable chairs in front of her desk.

Cavanaugh eyed them suspiciously, "No, I'll just be a minute. I just wanted to tell you that you can take off as much time as you need, you know, to help out Detective Rizzoli." He shook his head when he saw that the M.E. was about to object, "I know we have an open case right now, but the best thing that you could do right now is get our best detective back in the game."

The M.E. opened her mouth to object again, but Cavanaugh continued, "I'm not telling you to take time off, but just know that you can if you want to."

Dr. Isles gave Cavanaugh what she hoped looked like a grateful smile, "I will take that into consideration, Lieutenant. Thank you." The words came out sounding more terse than she had meant them to be, but before she could even rectify them, the stiff man was already out the door.

The doctor sat angrily back down in her office chair. She had all but been told to take time off to _care_ for Jane. The feminist in her was shaking her fists and raging inside, while another part still was reveling in the thought of again having Jane all to herself for an indefinite period of time.

Jane would be grouchy and utterly intractable as Maura tended to her. She imagined Jane's characteristic look of consternation as Maura gently suggested a bath or tried to help her with her various physical therapy exercises. The thought of the brunette's tendency to eventually capitulate to all of her demands brought a slow and warming smile to her face.

She closed out of her Emanuel Ungaro tab and slipped her phone into her purse. She was off to Massachusetts General Hospital.

It was less than thirty minutes before Dr. Isles was pacing outside the elevator on the fourth floor. Her short, quick strides brought her from the wall opposite the first elevator to the edge of the wall opposite the second elevator. When she reached the end of the pastel green wall, she turned on one edge of her small horseshoe-shaped stiletto heel and went back again.

The steady _clack, clack, clack_ of her heels helped the doctor think. Why was she so nervous? What was stopping her from sitting next to the warm, supportive Rizzoli matriarch and waiting to see when Jane would awaken?

_If Jane awakens_, the dark voice in her usual mental cacophony piped up. Yes, that must be it. She was simply scared that she would never look into the brunette's strong, steady chocolate eyes again.

"Oh, Maura! Lovely to see you, I was just going to get some coffee. Would you like some—or I can get you a tea…?" the distinctive voice of Colonel Casey Jones stopped the blonde in her tracks.

Maura hoped her smile seemed sincere, "No, I am not thirsty at the moment. Is she awake?"

Casey smiled gratefully at her concern, as if she were doing him a favor, "Yes, I was glad to be here for that. She's in 412. I thought you would be working hard on that case you two still have open," he mused. "Jane certainly would be," he chuckled good naturedly to cover up the insinuation belying his words. Casey gave a nod toward the elevator and stepped in as it opened, giving a small wave before the metal doors slid closed and took him away.

The agitated Dr. Isles deflated, leaving a slumped Maura against a sickeningly mint green and cold hospital wall. First she has a man telling her not to work, and now she has a man telling her she best be working. The patriarchy was certainly fickle in its prescriptions for what a woman need be doing.

"Bass is probably hungry," Maura mumbled to herself, and punched the down button for the elevator.

She tore the hospital visitor badge from her shirt as she exited the building, discarding it in the trash bin right outside the sliding glass doors. She planned upon giving Bass an extra few British strawberries and opening a particularly expensive bottle of wine.

Nothing like finding out the love of your life is once again seeing the man she was engaged to marry.

**A/N: So I've invented a new character to be introduced in the next chapter. Heh heh. Can't wait for you to meet her :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I got quite a number of passionate PMs about this story. It seems you guys really don't like Casey...don't you think you're being a little too hard on the guy? Ha. I kid. Guy's a douchehat. But as beards are always a necessary part of R&I, I use him as a delightful little pawn. Happy reading! **

"Maur?" Jane asked sleepily, valiantly fighting the heavy green haze that was sitting on her head like early morning fog on country hills. She'd get to the top of a hill and be able to see a bit, only to go back down again into the chilly mist.

"Maura isn't here right now, Janie. But she'll be here soon," Mama Rizzoli said soothingly to her daughter. She'd better be, Angela said under her breath. This was the third time Jane had asked for her. In twenty minutes.

"Maur makes me better," Jane mumbled. Her words came out garbled, like those of a child up far past her bedtime. "She always makes me better."

"I know, baby. We all know," Angela said in the same soothing tone. The doctor had affected a particularly noticeable change in the gruff, unyielding detective. She had somehow mined all of Jane's brightest traits and set them out for the world to see. Her playfulness, her joy, her warmth—things they thought Hoyt had robbed her of completely—miraculously poured forth under the doctor's patient hands.

"Casey was here," Angela said helpfully. "I don't know what is going on between you two anymore, but it looks to me like he's stickin around for you this time." Angela secretly hoped that the morphine would act like some sort of truth serum on her daughter.

Jane grunted and shifted in bed. It looked slightly like Jane was trying to shake her head, "no," but it was rather hard to tell.

"Do you love Casey?" Angela asked bluntly.

No response. Not even a finger twitch.

"Do you want a big, juicy hamburger?"

A slightly vigorous nod from the patient.

"Do you love Maura?" the conspiratorial edge to the matriarch's voice was unmistakable. She was pretty certain Jane was about to give some sort of answer when the door burst open to reveal Casey carrying a coffee for himself and a tea for Angela in Styrofoam cups.

Angela huffed quietly, perturbed at her missed opportunity. "Maura says I should never use Styrofoam because it never decomposes," Angela said, eying the cup suspiciously as if it were going to attack her.

"Well, this did well enough in the mess hall on base in Afghanistan, and it will have to do here as well," he looked bemusedly at Angela, "I forgot my organic gourd canteen at home."

"You have an organic gourd canteen?" Angela said, dipping the question up loudly in her characteristic rasp. She warily wrapped her lips around the offending container and took an experimental sip, continuing to look at the man in front of her.

"Well, I uh, no," Casey answered, falling flat when he realized it would be more trouble than it was worth to explain his sarcasm.

The two lapsed into a slightly awkward silence. Angela opened the slick cover of one of Maura's discarded Ok! magazines. As she read, she punctuated the silence with occasional normative exclamatory statements that anyone would have a hard time finding a response to. So Casey stayed silent, eventually pulling the day's newspaper from his pocket to peruse the sports section.

An agonizingly tense hour passed in this manner, each person painfully aware of the very faint ticking of the clock above the hospital room door. They were also both painfully aware that not a month ago Jane had been carrying his child; there was also the small matter of he and Jane not exactly comprising "a thing" at the moment. Each party, in fact, wished the other would give up and go away for the time being, but until the clock struck 3 in the morning, neither had given up.

"Well," Angela finally said, closing the magazine. "I'm going to go get some fresh air. Why don't you go home and get some rest? Jane just got out of surgery and won't be up for a long time—trust me, I've seen Jane through all her all her injuries."

Casey's jaw twitched at the implication: he hadn't been around much for Jane. And the Rizzoli matriarch had all but told him to leave, "I just had some coffee, but I thank you for your concern. Have a nice stroll."

Casey unfolded his newspaper once more and found the crossword puzzle. He had never been any good at them, but he had neglected to bring a book and was loath to turn on the television for fear of waking Jane—her wrath was similar to that of a provoked, starving crocodile.

**4 Across, 15 spaces: Means voluptuous**

Why was he here? The two of them seemed to enjoy playing a sick game of "I want you to want me." But as soon as that goal was realized, the desire left and the roles were reversed. Currently it was he that was doing the wanting and Jane that was doing the repelling. Would he want her when she wanted him again? Would she want him again?

**5 Across, 9 spaces: King Vittorio _**

Casey snorted. Of course she would want him again. This was the same game they had been playing since high school. Casey eyed the remote sitting on the bedside table next to Jane. He had gotten a grand total of 0 answers in the damned crossword puzzle thus far.

**2 Down, 9 spaces: An orange fruit**

E…no, that was six letters. He eyed the remote again and scooted the chair a bit closer so he could reach it. It was still a bit of a stretch, "Motherfuc—"

"Maura?" Jane mumbled, moving around a bit in her sleep.

The remote clattered to the ground, the batteries rolling across the hard floor. It was the kind of floor they had in gradeschool classrooms, the ones that had large squares of a slightly greyish color with ever-so-slight colorful squiggles inside.

"Casey, can I help you with anything?" Angela asked, getting down on her knees so that she was face-level with the war veteran. For a second her motherly concern for the formerly wounded soldier overrode her icy regard for him.

"Batteries," he said by way of explanation, picking up the last one, which had hidden itself in the shadow of one of the hospital bed wheels. His face burned with anger and a bit of shame at the matriarch's quick attempt to help him.

The two settled on watching the local news rerun that day's nightly news program. After a few minutes of silence interrupted by a reporter talking about "the crime problem" in Boston, Angela casually asked, "Did Maura stop by the hospital at all today?"

Casey cast a sideways glance at the Rizzoli matriarch. "No, I haven't seen her at all."

"Hm," was all Angela said in response as she looked into her purse ostensibly to find her lipstick. Her hands brushed against the namebadge sticker she had picked up on her jaunt outside in the night air.

"Good morning, Dr. Isles."

Maura looked up from her particularly large cup of coffee to see Angela standing across from her in the kitchen.

"Good morning," Maura answered automatically. The corners of her mouth wouldn't turn up, so she covered the attempt with her coffee mug.

"Up late last night?" Angela looked pointedly at the coffee in her hands. Maura almost exclusively drank tea. She only kept coffee in the house for Jane's consumption: Boston Joe's. Her favorite.

She nodded her head down in assent, "Yes, long night." She felt a bit itchy because she knew she was distinctly obfuscating the fact that she had stayed up the entire night with two bottles of wine and a face lined with the saline footpaths of hundreds of marching tears. The many years with Jane, however, had slowly ebbed away at the severity of the reaction. Too many half-truths about what Maura was feeling for the detective. Too many half-lies.

"You know, Casey was at the hospital all night last night. He might still be there now. I thought Jane had ended things with him like she does with all her men eventually." Angela was watching the blonde with a sharp mother's eye.

"I did, too," Maura said. Her voice was small; it was almost lost in the mug that seemed a permanent fixture on her visage. The small blonde's shoulders were still squared in their usual perfect posture, but the unflappable confidence she usually exuded was completely gone.

"I'm sure you've been really busy, what with the case being open and all. I know Jane will understand. She has two broken legs, you know. And bruised lungs. It's gonna take a long time for her to recover from this one."

Maura racked her brain for something to say that wasn't a lie, "I'm sure Jane will recover with her usual speed. There is no need to worry."

Angela tried a more direct route, "You didn't happen to run into Casey last night, did you?" The suspicion in her voice was overly apparent.

"I…did," Maura answered guiltily.

"Mmmhmm," was all Angela said in response, as if Maura were confirming her suspicions. She grabbed another magazine from the corner of the bar—ostensibly her reason for venturing into the kitchen in the first place. "Well I'm sure you and Casey had a nice time catching up, then. Wouldn't it be just lovely if we got to see our Janie actually get married this time?"

"I um, marriage is," Maura ran her tongue over her bottom lip out of habit, "Good."

Angela Rizzoli smiled to herself at the response. "Why haven't you settled down yet, Maura? You're such a pretty, intelligent woman. That Jack fellow seemed to be quite the catch! Why haven't I heard you talk about him in awhile?"

"We had different priorities, it seems," Maura responded enigmatically. Her mind's eye flicked back to the conversation the two of them had after the night they spent at the Dirty Robber with Jane.

_"You and Jane seem to be really great friends. She really looks out for you, you know." _

_"Yes, yes she does." Maura gazed after the tall brunette, who had just excused herself to run to the restroom. _

_"Is Jane dating anyone currently?" _

_"No, I don't believe so." _

_"We need to find her a good woman, then. I think I know the perfect one, in fact. She works at the University." _

_"Woman?" Maura laughed, though it came out a bit forced. "Jane is the most heterosexual person I know." _

_Jack looked at her with incredulity. "You don't see it, do you?" _

_Maura cocked her head to the side, a signal for him to elaborate. _

_"She worships you, Maura," Jack said with a laugh, "And I don't blame her. You're amazing." He said the last bit in her ear, tenderly. Normally that would trigger a physiological response from her—a shiver, or a bit of arousal—but instead Maura felt as though her body were made of cement._

_Jane had returned to the table then, with some story about how she had just walked in on Daniel from Vice macking on Holly the CI stripper. Not too long later, Maura had excused herself and had since then been trying to avoid Jack without arousing too much suspicion. _

"Well, I'm going to go get some rest. Frankie is over with Jane right now. He has to leave soon to get to work, though, and I don't think anyone will be there until I can get there after 7…" She let her insinuation lie for a bit. If Angela Rizzoli was anything she was persistent, and right now she was full steam ahead on playing matchmaker.

Maura didn't say anything.

Just before stepping through the glass doors that led to her guesthouse, Angela stopped. "You know, Maura, she keeps asking for you. She hasn't said anything else."

"Thanks, Angela, I just…" but the Rizzoli matriarch was already out the door.

Maura wasn't sure why she was feeling so hopeless. She had long ago accepted the fact that Jane—whether straight or closeted—would never love her. Jane's friendship meant enough to her. Meant everything to her.

_"Then it's just you and me."_

She had been okay with that. But then Jane went in. Had she hit the water slightly differently, she could have died. She would have died not knowing, and somehow that knowledge made Maura's heart hurt worse than ever before. That secret thought that someday Jane would know…that Jane wouldn't hate her for it. She didn't ask for Jane's love in return, she only wished for her understanding.

Sometimes she fantasized about simply kissing Jane in one of their many moments together. They would never talk about it afterward. Jane would never look at her with disgust or pity. She would simply know.

She could do it right now, in fact. She could go to the hospital right then, kiss her and leave. In a sick twist that worked in her favor, Jane couldn't even follow her out of the room if she wanted to. It was cowardly, but Maura realized she had the perfect avenue for escape and was more than happy to take it.

Today was indeed a red day, Maura thought as she patted the visitor sticker to her crimson dress. Red for passion and lust and possibly an untimely demise. Her black heels smoothly glided to the elevator, where she pressed the up button. The first elevator instantly opened; the second one was on its way down. Maura stepped into the open one and pressed the 4 button. As the metal doors were closing, Maura could have sworn she saw a white male with buzzed hair walking toward the exit.

That was close.

The hospital was just as it was several hours ago when she had last been there. She stepped aside to allow a trifecta of nurses to pass her in the hallway. They were painstakingly wheeling an extraordinarily obese male to a new location. He was so large that his facial features were utterly obscured in a large mound of flesh. His tiny, beady eyes were open and staring at the ceiling, his tiny mouth open in a slight O as he drew labored breaths. His head tilted slightly to the side and the beady eyes trained on her. She could swear he was objectifying her.

Maura shuddered. Suddenly red seemed like a rather horrific color to be wearing in a hospital. She should be wearing mint green so that she could just blend in with the walls.

_408…410…412_ Maura counted quietly to herself. She peered in the window to see both beds in the room occupied. It was rather strange—usually the hospital afforded police officers their own private rooms.

She saw that the first bed was indeed occupied by Jane, who was sound asleep. Maura brought a chair as close to the bed as possible and sat gingerly upon it.

"Hey, Jane," Maura said softly. She reached for the hand that was closest to her. It was cold. She sat in silence for some minutes, not really knowing what to say or how to say it. Instead, she traced the lines of Jane's face with her eyes, committing everything she could to memory.

"I hate that Casey was here," Maura said finally. "He isn't good for you, Jane. It makes me so angry that he even feels like he has the right to be here. I should have the right to be here…not the obligation. It is a petty distinction, I know. But I love you and that just messes everything up inside. I'm sorry."

Maura leaned over to brush her lipsticked lips against Jane's dry ones. She could swear she could feel Jane's head push up slightly to press against her…but she couldn't be sure. She was likely just projecting her desires upon the situation.

As she rose from her leaning position, her eyes met with steel blue ones through the window. The face was cold and stoic, but the eyes were flashing in challenge to the M.E.

Maura picked up her purse and briskly exited the room, bowing her head so that she didn't make eye contact with the irate military man. She had just unintentionally declared war on the Colonel. So indeed it was a red day after all.

_What am I doing?_ She was walking briskly away, pushing open the door to the stairwell in favor of waiting for the elevator and risking confrontation with Casey. She should be looking Casey in the eye, grabbing Jane's hand and resolutely refusing to leave Jane's side. She should be staking her claim, telling Casey to leave Jane alone not only because he was a terrible significant other for Jane, but also because Jane was _hers_.

Instead her pupils were shrinking in the harsh morning light and her legs were carrying her briskly to the door of her small blue Prius. A bird overhead dropped an offending white splatter of uric acid on the hood of it—yes, things were going just lovely today.

The uric acid brought Maura to think of some juvenile "meme" that Jane had once shown her. Jane had found it absolutely hilarious, cracking up so much that she was on the floor as Maura opened the .jpg file. It was a two-paneled meme: in the first panel, a bird is simply standing in the middle of the road; in the second it was astonishingly close to the camera with wide eyes. The text: "That's a nice car you have there…Be a shame if somebody SHIT ON IT."

It had Jane in stitches for weeks. Frankie, Frost, Korsak and Jane would randomly email it to one another and just die laughing. Maura never saw the appeal of such puerile humor, but always loved seeing Jane so happy and silly. She had even randomly emailed it to the brunette a couple of times, just so she could watch the wild-haired detective burst into her office with mirth dancing in her eyes.

"Dr. Death!" Jane remonstrated in jest. "Joining in with the hoi polloi, I see!"

She crossed the M.E.'s office in two strides and leaned way over the mahogany desk. "That's a nice car you got there," she said in a low, gravelly and slightly insinuating voice. "It would be such a shame if somebody…" she leaned way low into Maura's ear, "Shit on it," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. And burst out laughing again.

Jane had no idea what she did to Maura when she leaned over the desk like that. The low voice had vibrated her to her core—the words were of no consequence. And the way Jane's lips had slightly brushed the auricle of her ear…

"Maur, you're the greatest!" Jane exclaimed with childish glee. She popped around the desk to hug Maura's seated self to her, which essentially pressed Maura's face into Jane's taut stomach. It caused a whole new bout of shivers through Maura. She cursed her body for the corruption it brought to such an innocent moment.

It made Maura so happy to see Jane so carefree and joyful, even more when it was Maura who was causing said joy.

The ME gripped the steering wheel tighter and sighed heavily. But what if Maura's confession hurt Jane? She wasn't sure she could bear doing that. She didn't want to taint the purity of what they already had…more than she already did, in any case, with her continual base thoughts and uncontrollable physiological reactions.

It never got any easier.

The day for the Chief Medical Examiner was without any further excitement. She did some obligatory paperwork and consulted with Korsak, Frankie and Nina on some minor developments in their still-open case. Angela, thankfully, was keeping her distance for the time being, and Maura was free to ruminate over her cowardice in peace.

Jane, however, had found quite the companion in her 412 roommate. Since she had awoken at 11 that morning, much to the detective's surprise, the two had talked incessantly. Jane was known to be aloof—even overtly hostile—to those she didn't know. That this stranger had so easily penetrated her defenses was slightly alarming.

"So you really are a neuroscientist? I'm sure Maura would love to talk to you! Do you poke brains all day or something?" Jane asked curiously, if not a little irreverently.

"You've only mentioned Maura about twenty times in the last two hours," her roommate said sarcastically and slightly teasingly. "No, I don't 'poke brains all day.' I used to do research and played with people's brains all day, but now I just work in government. Well, really, at government. I consult with lawmakers about science policy. I'm currently trying to implement national courses for teachers about the way children learn. There's a lot of misinformation out there."

Jane laughed a bit, "You sorta sound like Maura, too. Except you skip all the sciency mumbo jumbo and get straight to the point. It's a bit funny that you ended up in here because you cracked your head open—y'know, cause you work with brains all the time."

"I'm laughing really hard over here," the woman responded in a deadpan voice. Her short tawny brown hair flipped in front of her spectacled eyes as she contracted in laughter. "Prominent Neuroscientist hospitalized for severe head injury after listening to amygdala," she said, as if quoting a newspaper headline. She laughed sardonically, "Yeah, jumping on an unbroken stallion recently acquired from the BLM is not a particularly well thought-out move, huh?"

"And jumping off a bridge in the dead of night is any better?" Jane countered.

"Point taken. 412—the room of amygdala driven females," her friend Gerry said.

They both sighed, and the silence consumed them comfortably for a minute or so. They had quickly gotten past the usual name, profession, marital and child status small talk, something that Jane was eternally grateful for. If there was anything she hated, it was small talk.

"So Maura," Gerry started. "Let me guess, she's small, blonde and wears killer heels?"

"Uh, yeah, actually. Wait—can you neuroscientists read minds or something?"

"Oh yes, I reconstructed your neurotransriptors using Pym Particles, so everything you are thinking is actually now public domain," Gerry said with a very serious face that quickly devolved into a shit-eating grin. "No I can't read minds, genius. Well not without a brain scan, that is. She was here this morning," Gerry said a bit patronizingly. She turned her bandaged head Jane's way to give her a reassuring smile. Usually her dry, sarcastic humor put people off, but Jane had instantly taken to it.

"She was?" A small smile pulled up the corners of Jane's thin lips. It was quickly replaced by her usual stoic mask.

"Yeah, and wearing a killer red dress, too. I mean, she had me wide awake and I'm here on an ungodly amount of morphine," Gerry said with a wicked smile. "She your girl?"

Jane looked at Gerry suspiciously. The tiny woman could have sworn she heard the taller brunette growl. "No. But what's it to you?"

"Oh don't you get your panties in a twist. I'm happily married, remember?" Gerry asked cheekily, holding up her left hand for Jane to see the silver band on her fourth finger. "It's just that, you know, she seemed rather yours when she kissed you this morning."

Jane bit her lip in contemplation. Her head rolled back so that she was looking at the ceiling. "You mean she kissed my forehead or something, right?"

"Yeah, because my mom doesn't do that. No, she kissed your mouth, numbskull!"

"Oh." Maura kissed her on the lips…and she wasn't awake for it! Luck never usually was on her side. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe she meant to go for the forehead but somehow missed? That had to be it.

Gerry laughed again. It was short and sharp, "This is too good. You guys obviously haven't done it, have you?"

"No!" Jane exclaimed, aghast. Her face was quickly turning red as the usual fantasies came to the forefront of her mind.

"But you want to."

Jane chose not to comment on that statement. It was far too close to the truth. "Are you sure you're a neurosurgeon? Because it seems like you're a fucking psychiatrist right now. You're probably about to tell me that the reason I want her is because I didn't get enough mommy time when I was younger or something."

"That could be your root…" Gerry mused.

"My root?"

"You've never seen _But I'm a Cheerleader_, have you?" Gerry asked with a disapproving head shake. "God, you're so straight."

Their conversation was ended, however, when the afternoon nurses came in to check up on them, change their sheets and give them their requisite medications.

"How is your pain?" the nurse asked Jane. She gruffly responded that she was fine. When would she be getting out of there, again? She huffed when the nurse wouldn't give her a straight answer.

"I don't—" Jane quickly said when she saw the nurse moving to give her more morphine. But she was too late, the button had already been pushed. Goddammit.

"What was that?" the nurse asked her, feigning concern.

"No more morphine!" Jane protested loudly before the haze clouded over her and rained the nurse away.

**A/N: So now you guys have met Gerry, our new character. What do you think of her? And no, she isn't going to sleep with either Jane or Maura-don't you worry your little heads about that. Now we've got Jane stuck in a hospital room with a confirmed lesbian, Casey all-too-aware of his competition, Angela on a mission...yes, I do believe things are about to get good. **

**Also, has anyone figured out the answers to the crossword puzzle? I'm curious to see if you guys can! **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I know I haven't posted in a long time, but I have been moving through the tumultuous life stage that is college graduation and coping with living back at home for an extended period of time after four years of freedom. Put plainly: my life has sucked. But, finally a small spark of inspiration has alighted upon me, so here you go! **

A few hours after the narcotic was administered, Jane awoke to find her mother sitting in the chair next to her.

"Maaaaaaa," Jane complained, her voice cottony from lack of water. "They're drugging me. It's a conspiracy, I tell you!"

"Hello to you, too, Janie. I'm sure whatever the doctors are giving you is just gonna help you. You need to get better. You have a mom and two brothers who look up to you and now a little nephew and Maura. We all want you home quickly," Angela remonstrated. "I can't stay for long tonight, Janie because I need to get some good sleep. I have an interview tomorrow!"

Jane looked at her mother with interest and genuine happiness, "Really, Ma? With who?"

"It's with a preschool in the Beacon Hill area. I can't be a teacher because I need to go to college for that, but I can be the Activities Director, and I really think I'd be good at it, you know?"

Jane hadn't seen her mother this happy since Pops had left. She wished she could hug her. "C'mere, Ma," Jane beckoned, and the Rizzoli matriarch happily—albeit slightly awkwardly—hugged her daughter's stomach.

After updating Jane on all the gossip happenings in the precinct, Angela kissed her daughter goodbye and took leave. As soon as the door closed, Jane turned to the right, "Hey, Gerry."

"Hey, Jane." The two shared a genuine smile, "So my wife should be by in a few minutes, and I told her to bring us a movie. Are you game for watching it?"

Jane looked concernedly at her wrist, shaking her head mournfully. "No can do. I have to be at work in ten," she met Gerry with a wicked smile. "Think they have any paddles for these things?" Jane mimed rowing a boat.

"Fraid not. Looks like you're stuck with us," Gerry said, perking up a bit when the door opened, revealing a beautiful woman with a dark complexion and dark, straightened hair. She wasn't too tall, probably a couple of inches higher than the womanly average of 5'4," but next to the tiny Gerry she would look much taller.

"Deen!" the woman exclaimed in a lovely lilting accent. She kissed the smaller woman on the lips before unceremoniously dropping a DVD box into the injured woman's lap.

"Adama, this is Jane. Jane's an idiot, just like me," Gerry said by way of introduction.

Adama moved toward Jane's bed and warmly grasped Jane's hand. Jane's eyes were instantly drawn into deep brown ones—in fact, they were almost black. They were like melted chocolate: thick, dark and shiny, so much so that Jane saw herself reflected back in them. "Pleasure to meet you, Jane."

"Nice to meet you, Adama. I think Gerry over there likes you or something. She's already told me your life story," Jane responded with a smile. She liked these two ladies.

Gerry had told Jane that she had met her wife at a neuroscience conference in London. Adama was the envoy from Nigeria, and the two had instantly hit it off. It took a bit of convincing for Gerry to break Adama out of the closet, but Gerry said it was worth every blue balls experience she ever had. For quite some time they needed to keep their relationship a secret because it could have meant death or a long jail sentencing for Adama back home in Nigeria, but things ended up working in their favor and they married three years later in the States.

"This movie she showed me within the first month we met. Apparently it's a necessity for all gays," Adama told Jane with an eye roll. But her mouth was opened wide in a large, infectious grin.

"I don't even think I'm gay—"

"You're gay."

"Yet," Jane finished with a bit of venom. Her chin jutted out slightly and her cheeks hollowed a bit in her frustration. She hated being categorized so easily.

"Oh yes you are. It's like the concept of a time machine, if you invent one at 3000 A.D. it instantaneously means that a time machine has existed in all other time. Once you realize you're gay, it means you've always been gay. Now go reanalyze your life," Gerry said happily.

Jane huffed a bit in her uncomfortable hospital gown but felt her momentary anger dissipate with Gerry's easy humor.

She squeezed her wife's hand. "Isn't this so exciting, Adama? I've converted another! The Conservatives are gonna be so proud!"

"I'm sure. Geraldine Michaels, GOP candidate 2016," Adama said sarcastically, grabbing the DVD and walking it over to the television in the center of the room on the far wall. "Shall I dim the lights, ladies?"

Both injured women nodded their heads in agreement.

The menu screen for "But I'm a Cheerleader" appeared on the television after a few obligatory commercials.

"You ready?" Adama asked seriously. "Once you watch this, there's no going back."

"We'll see about that…" Jane responded enigmatically. In true Jane form, she was not exactly ready to jump off the heterosexual ship in as little as one day. But Gerry certainly did get her wheels turning.

"So, what did you think?" Gerry asked. Her face was frank and candid, something Jane really liked about the little lady. Her eyes weren't always searching Jane's face, trying to understand her. There was no judgment or looking for answers before they were given. For as forward as she was, Gerry just…existed and waited for Jane to come to her.

It was refreshing.

"So where do I sign up to be a gay?" Jane asked in a deadpan voice.

"Not turned yet, eh? Hey, Adama, do you think we should show her some porn?"

The look on Adama's face, Jane thought with a smile, was priceless.

"Good heavens, no!"

Jane could swear she heard Adama muttering about "filthy Americans" under her breath, but over the steady beeping of hospital machines, she wasn't quite sure.

"It's so much harder to do this platonically," Gerry sighed. "It would be so much easier if there were just a way to get you a good lady fuck."

Adema looked seriously at Jane, "I swear I did not teach her to use such language." But the laughter in her eyes revealed the amusement she got from her life partner. Gerry was charismatic and funny; Adema was usually pithy and serious. Yet both had this underlying ease about them…a rhythm and a balance…it certainly wasn't difficult to see why the two of them were together.

Did she and Maura share that same ease? She smiled, imagining herself sitting across from Maura in the Dirty Robber and fighting over the last of the sweet potato fries. She saw herself and Maura arrive together at a crime scene, badassing it up together and arguing playfully over a blood stain. They certainly had something.

"So, Jane. Can you snap yourself out of that reverie for long enough to tell me what your root is?" Gerry said, smiling up at Adama knowingly.

"She was thinking about Maura," Gerry said in explanation to her partner, who rolled her eyes and smiled.

"I heard that!" Jane said grumpily. "My root…hm…maybe it has something to do with my mom being so damned pushy all the time?"

"Well, mine is definitely from mommy issues. My parents divorced when I was really young and my dad got custody of me. Mom decided she was in love with another man and wanted to start fresh with him, I guess. Anyway, I was watching ESPN every night starting about age 5. It was dyke history from there," Gerry said with a satisfied grin. Seeing Jane's concerned face, she added, "And don't pity me or anything. Wouldn't trade growing up with just my dad for the world! Plus I got to see my mom occasionally on weekends and at big events like birthdays. It wasn't too bad."

Jane smiled at the strange, confident woman before her. She looked off into the distance, hand positioned over her mouth in thought. The tan wall before her grew fuzzy as her mind worked.

"You know, I think I've got one!" She watched as Adama visibly leaned forward in the blue hospital chair. Gerry's mouth slid into an even more satisfied grin. "So my family is really Catholic, and every year my Ma would force the whole family into the church's annual Christmas play. Ma would make any new decorations and costumes, my pops would help to set up the stage and my brothers and me would act in the damned thing. I was always too tall to fit in any of the girl costumes, so I always was stuck as Joseph. Fucking Catherine McGillis was always Mary. She had the biggest boobs in our grade."

Gerry began slow clapping as Jane terminated her story. "Beautiful! Brilliant! Bucolic!" She wiped fake tears from her eyes, "They grow up so fast." She looked pointedly at Adama, motioning with her eyes for her to share her story.

"That is for another day. I am going to go return this movie and go home to our warm and comfortable bed. Where you could have been, had you not gotten that idiotic notion in your head…"

"That majestic beast was just begging to be—" Adama held up her hand, stopping the excuse she had likely heard many times over at this point.

"I love you, goodnight." She kissed her partner lightly on the lips with a chuckle, waved genially to Jane and swept gracefully out of the room, her deep red skirts swishing in her wake.

Maura sat on her large, white living room couch with a glass of 1989 Pinot Noir in hand. Her bare legs were curled up under her ass, her toes wiggling as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

She had kissed Jane this morning. Granted, the love of her life hadn't been cognizant of it at all, but it had happened. And she did have a witness—a rather unfortunate one, but a witness nonetheless. Would Casey act upon it? Would he tell Jane? Would it make him that much more determined to win Jane back?

Maura sighed. Someone behind her coughed.

"Angela?" Maura asked, turning around so quickly that her wine almost sloshed out of the glass. She saw the Rizzoli matriarch standing in the kitchen, empty wineglass in hand.

"Can I join you?"

Maura dipped her head in assent, "Of course, Angela. You're always welcome. Pour yourself a glass and come have a seat." Maura had been expecting to spend the evening alternatively contemplating and wallowing, and she was not necessarily certain if Angela's presence would be a boon or a damper on her already depressed spirits.

Angela rounded the couch, wineglass much more full than socially appropriate. Maura smiled at the red liquid and warm woman holding it. The Rizzoli family's constant flouting of high society conventions made a small flame kindle underneath the cool M.E's heart. They were so unlike everything she had ever known…so warm, so genuine, so tactile.

The older woman bent to drop a kiss on the blonde's forehead. She took a seat diagonally from the M.E, crossing her legs primly and pointedly.

"Maura," she started. The name rolled off her tongue in that round way so particular to the Rizzoli matriarch. She stopped to significantly lower the level of wine in her glass, "You haven't been acting right these past two days. I know something is wrong…is it about Jack?"

Maura almost spit out her wine at the mention of her newest significant other. He was away at a conference and in all the commotion, and aside from politely excusing his phone calls with a text saying she was busy with work, she hadn't given him a second thought, "No, not about Jack at all. Tired," Maura said, forcing a smile to appear on her face. She hoped the Rizzoli matriarch would overlook her poor, not entirely untrue, excuse for her behavior the past few days.

"Is it about Casey?"

No such luck.

"There are some things about Jane and Casey, yes, that have been on my mind since she…jumped," Maura obfuscated lamely. She felt her tongue nervously dart out to lick her bottom lip. Why did she always do that? She felt her heart beat begin to climb in her chest. She was not ready to admit her feelings about Jane to anyone—let alone Jane's mother. Had Angela already gotten the kiss out of Casey?

Angela's eyes narrowed further, if that were even possible. She took another long drag of wine, and Maura knew when she next opened her mouth it would be to drop the Angela "bomb," where she would reveal her intentions or her suspicions.

"Maura, are you in love with Casey?"

"Hey, Gerry?" Jane asked some time later. It had to be at least one in the morning, but they had taken Jane off of morphine per her request.

She was relieved when her suitemate responded, albeit sleepily.

"I really…I can't put myself out there unless I know Maur feels this way, too. She means too much to me. I don't know what I would do if I ruined our friendship. When she visits me next, can you just, you know, do a bit of spying to see if your gaydar is going off or whatever?"

When she didn't get a response fast enough, Jane added a drawn-out "Please" for good measure.

Gerry sighed as if the plan were to burden her, "I guess I can. But only if I get invited to your wedding after you two hook up."

"Har har. Make sure to bring your Red Sox jersey. I won't stand for any Nationals gear in my dugout when we get married at Fenway."

"You've already planned your wedding with her?" Gerry snorted in glee.

"I've thought about it once or twice…" Jane trailed off guiltily. "But I still carry a gun and take down bad guys every day, so my badassery is still valid, okay?"

Gerry laughed. "You're such a lesbian. Looks like we've got a deal."

Maura moved easily in her black pumps between the cold metal slabs of the morgue. She was making her way to see Senior Criminalist Chang in the testing room.

"Dr. Isles, you're not going to like this," Chang said slowly. She was holding up a beaker and swirling it around carefully. The blonde looked between her and the beaker quizzically. She didn't order any chemical tests.

"Oh, this is nothing," Chang said quickly, placing the beaker down gingerly—and somewhat guiltily—before moving over to a small tray that contained the hairs they had extracted from Rebecca's shower drain. They were arranged in three groups, each with a small label underneath. One said Paul Westcourt, one said Rebecca and one said the name of Paul's wife.

"I sent the results to Sergeant Korsak and Nina. I believe they are in the process of acquiring a warrant to enter Westcourt's house. I…I hope this is okay?" she asked a bit uneasily. She was unable to read the M.E.'s expression, which wasn't necessarily out of the norm, but felt she had somehow overstepped the bounds by not informing the M.E. of her progress sooner.

Instead of remonstrating her, Maura smiled and nodded thankfully at the twitchy lab tech while moving to leave. She had every intention of conducting another autopsy on Rebecca. Before leaving the lab, however, she added, "And Senior Criminalist Chang?"

The woman started, giving Maura the distinct impression of a rabbit caught in the act of eating a farmer's lettuce.

"Good luck on that chemical mating inducer. I recommend gathering pheromones from the underarms and gauging the reaction it has to your intended's pupils."

Maura closed the door before she could see the lab tech's face flush bright crimson. She was elbow-deep in Rebecca's chest cavity when she noticed the tech surreptitiously dab her underarms with what looked like a gauze pad through the glass door across the morgue.

**A/N: I wish I could write in a more serious manner. Just like in life, I seem to sprinkle all things serious with a bit of ridiculousness, and I am truly sorry to anyone who feels it is to this fic's detriment. Also, crossword answers will be in the next chapter. Somehow I couldn't seem to fit them in this chapter. **


End file.
